


Little Earthquakes

by BarettaVendetta



Series: Tales from the Konoha Library [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon - Manga, M/M, Manga Spoilers, bereavement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarettaVendetta/pseuds/BarettaVendetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snapshots from the life, death and resurrection of Madara Uchiha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Earthquakes

_Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again..._

 

_The way we fight..._

“I'm better at throwing stones than you!”

“Oh, shut up. That last one was a fluke.”

“Really? A fluke? Sounds like something a _loser_ would say.”

“You calling me a loser? You want me to throw the next stone at your head?”

“Aw, come on, Madara. I was only joking.”

“Yeah, well, watch this.”

Madara picks up a smooth, flat grey stone and flicks his wrist in the way he's been practising, and it bounces perfectly across the surface of the water, stopping just short of reaching the other side. Hashirama laughs.

 

_We dance in graveyards..._

Seijuro Uchiha, the second of Tajima's five sons, is dead. He was cornered by a group of Senju shinobi and killed. He was fourteen.

As Seijuro's coffin is lowered into the grave, little Shisui sobs into his hands. _How undignified_ , Madara thinks, but he decides not to say anything.

It's an inevitable part of being a shinobi.

Later, when Madara is alone and there is no-one to scold him, he curls up on his bed and cries. No amount of repeating of shinobi rules and talk of dignity and saving face and that sort of thing can hide the fact that another person he loves is gone. The last time he saw Seijuro, they argued.

“Fuck the Senju,” he whispers into his bedclothes. “ _Fuck_ them.”

 

_We laughed in the faces of kings, never afraid to burn..._

Madara and Hashirama sit on the riverbank. It's Madara's turn to hold the fishing rod. He's drifting off when he feels a tug.

“I got one! I got one!”

He wastes no time in yanking the string out of the water. A saury dangles from the line, a hook in its mouth. He is positive he sees Hashirama shudder. “What's wrong?” he taunts. “Feeling sorry for your dinner?”

Hashirama shakes his head. “'Course not,” he says. He's lying through his teeth. He doesn't much like hunting and fishing, even if he does recognise that they are skills every shinobi needs to have.

Still, between them, they catch almost a basketful of fish, and fortunately, an even number of fish at that. Uchiha and Senju will eat well tonight. Neither boy will tell his family he was fishing with the other.

 

_Black winged roses that safely changed their colour..._

Hashirama Senju, the first Hokage of Konohagakure, has called a meeting of the heads of the various ninja clans who populate his village.

As well as Madara, there are also the heads of the lesser clans. Hariyuki of the Hyuuga, a clan with powerful white eyes. Oda of the Shimura, a clan of wind users and swordsmen and spies. Aburame, a clan of human hives. Sasuke of the Sarutobi, one of the first clans to support Hashirama's plan, a practitioner of fire techniques, and his three affiliates: Yanagi of the Yamanaka, a clan of telepaths; Masaru of the Nara, a timid man from a clan of people who can control shadows; and Shouchu of the Akimichi, a fat old drunkard who is rumoured to beat his wife and daughters, from a clan of similarly overweight people who can alter the shapes of their bodies. Finally, there is the one female clan head: Ogami of the Inuzuka, a wild matriarchal clan who are only slightly less feral than the dogs who accompany them everywhere.

Madara sits slightly apart from the other seven clan heads, to Hashirama's left, while Tobirama sits to the Hokage's right. He considers all of them beneath him, especially the drunkard and the woman with the fangs. Hashirama is far too tolerant of these inferior clans. The only ones deserving of any respect are the Hyuuga – though Madara's respect for them is a grudging one, and their Byakugan does not compare to the Sharingan – and the ruthless Shimura, and perhaps the Sarutobi. Hashirama has previously prophesied great things for them.

Even after the meeting is ended, and the clan heads leave the room, he can feel Tobirama's disapproving eyes on him. That bastard is always going to be a thorn in his side, and he wishes Hashirama had killed him, but that's Hashirama for you. Too kind, and sometimes, in the wrong job, although the other seven seem to like him.

 

_Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces..._

“I can't keep doing this, Hashirama.”

“Why not? Mito will never know.”

“It's not her. It's your brother. He hates us, always has.”

“Madara, please. I'm trying to reason with him, you know that.”

“You and I both know he's out to get the Uchiha. Why do you think I've activated my Sharingan?”

“He doesn't know where this place is. Trust me.”

“He'll find out.”

“Relax.”

“Ha. I wish I could.”

Madara doesn't tell Hashirama the other reason why he can no longer have these meetings with him. Hashirama wouldn't understand.

But he and Hashirama end up in each other's arms anyway. Cutting these ties is going to be harder than Madara thought.

One of these days, he will have to tell Hashirama the awful truth of the monument.

 

_Give me life..._

How many years have passed? How long has it been since Senju and Uchiha clashed at the Valley of the End? Madara can't remember, or rather, doesn't care to. What matters is here, and now. This is a half-existence. He is long freed from Kabuto's control, but it is still not enough. He is not alive; he is a half-finished product, the corpse of some fool unlucky enough to get himself sacrificed. He is sake in a jar, rather than a jar full of sake. _Sake._ Madara can't remember the last time he tasted it, or indeed, tasted anything. He can feel pain, but through a filter; every sense of his is half-light.

That bloody Senju woman is still alive. It didn't take much to rip her into pieces, but somehow, she's been put back together. That somehow is Orochimaru, up to his old tricks again. _Oh well_ , Madara thinks, _she's nothing to be scared of_. _Who is she, compared to Hashirama?_

 

_Give me pain..._

The black half of the faithful Zetsu forces Obito Uchiha to perform the resurrection jutsu that was meant for Madara in the first place. A boy from Konoha tries to perform a sealing jutsu, but it is too late.

He can see the fear in Hashirama's eyes.

 

_Give me myself again..._

The resurrection begins.

Colour returns to Madara's grey skin as blood flows through his veins. Cracks mend themselves. Every nerve, every bone, every tendon, every vein and artery, every cell in his body is teeming with life. Colours are clearer, scents are clearer, sounds are louder. He looks at his hands, flexes his fingers. He could swear his hair is blacker than before. Air courses through his lungs. He is a roaring ocean, a tree springing forth from the ground. He is human again. He throws back his head and laughs, and his whole body shakes, and the blond boy and the young Uchiha are paralysed with shock.

He is no longer undead. He is no longer a half-existence. He is no longer a puppet, and Obito Uchiha will soon be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

He is alive. Unlike Hashirama, who is still grey and undead, he is alive.

He is Madara Uchiha, and for him, the war has only just begun.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to write this fic originally, but a combination of events in the war arc and meta posts on the subject of Madara by a Tumblr user called Pikacheeka made me change my mind. The line 'give me life, give me pain, give me myself again' and the gradual build-up of the song around that line made me think of Madara freeing himself from the Edo Tensei.


End file.
